Astrid Ivanovich and The Spinner's Key
by PutterMurr
Summary: Thirteen years after the end of Harry's story, wizards have invented the Internet, shadows gather in the cracks of Britain's peace, and a young girl heads off to Hogwarts for the first time. (Original characters, next gen, reader-guided.)
1. Author's Note

**Author's Note**

Before you read, let me explain a bit about the format of this fic.

You know those Choose Your Own Adventure books you read as a kid? The ones where you could choose what your character did, and you'd flip to some random page in the book to see what happened? This story's one of those - sort of. It's not CYOA in that there are multiple paths. I do not have that kind of time, much as it would be fun to give everyone a customized Hogwarts adventure.

Instead, this fic is something called a Quest. It's a type of story that's taken off in some parts of the Internet, for very good reason. In Quests, readers vote on choices provided by the author, who then writes the next update with the winner in mind. This lets readers shape the plot, focus on the characters they like, ignore what they think is boring, and have influence over parts of the story they'd otherwise have no say in. Having both written and participated in these stories, I can tell you that it is lots of fun, and I hope it continues to grow in popularity.

The first few updates are for character creation, and will be quite different from the standard update, but if you'd like to skip ahead to the actual story, start at **Chapter 5**. (Though the protagonist's background is greatly expanded upon in the first five chapters.) To provide an element of randomness to the story, I use dice and some tabletop mechanics to determine whether or not the main character succeeds, but don't worry - this is much more a story than it is a game. The first fifteen chapters of the Quest are already written, and thus the votes cannot be changed. I'm just including them for posterity's sake, and have marked the winners with an X. If you'd like to participate in this story as a voter, PM me and I'll provide you the link to the forum I use. If not, hope you enjoy it as another drop in the HP fanfic ocean!


	2. Chapter 1 - Prologue

The year 2000 was an eventful time for the world. For Muggles, digital technology began to hit its peak, placing computers, laptops, and cell phones in more homes than ever before. For wizarding folk, the scourge of Voldemort had been eradicated for two blissful years, and the residents of magical Britain were finally getting used to peace once again. The new millennium marked a time of change and innovation for all, heralding new ideas, blessings, and challenges for both sides of humanity to face.

In the year 2000, a couple gave birth to a squealing baby girl. Far away, an enchanted quill marked her down in a book with infinite pages. And history was forever changed.

What was the little girl's name?

 **[x] Astrid**  
 **[ ] Bailey**  
 **[ ] Esther**  
 **[ ] Hestia**  
 **[ ] Leah**  
 **[ ] Vivian**  
 **[ ] Write-in**

 **[ ] Bernstein**  
 **[ ] Hadley**  
 **[x] Ivanovich**  
 **[ ] Maddox**  
 **[ ] Pander**  
 **[ ] Smith**  
 **[ ] Write-in**

What day was she born?

 **[x] January 1st**  
 **[ ] February 29th**  
 **[ ] May 2nd**  
 **[ ] July 31st**  
 **[ ] Write-in (before September 1st)**

Who gave birth to the girl that would change the world?

 **[ ] A witch and a wizard, both of the purest bloodlines.**  
 **[ ] A witch and a wizard, though one could name close Muggle relatives.**  
 **[ ] A witch and a wizard, though both could name close Muggle relatives.**  
 **[ ] A witch and a wizard, both Muggleborns.**  
 **[ ] A Muggle man and a witch, who broke her long line of pureblood ancestry.**  
 **[x] A Muggle woman and a wizard, who broke his long line of pureblood ancestry.**  
 **[ ] A Muggle man and a witch.**  
 **[ ] A Muggle woman and a wizard.**  
 **[ ] A Muggle couple, who knew nothing of their daughter's magic.**

Tragedy often follows those who are bound for greatness. What happened after she was born?

 **[ ] The mother died in childbirth.**  
 **[ ] The mother died of sickness some years later.**  
 **[ ] The mother abandoned the family.**  
 **[ ] The father died in an accident some months later.**  
 **[ ] The father died of sickness some years later.**  
 **[ ] The father abandoned the family.**  
 **[ ] The couple fell out of love and divorced.**  
 **[ ] The couple was killed in an accident.**  
 **[ ] The couple was murdered.**  
 **[ ] The couple abandoned their child.**  
 **[x] Nothing happened. The family had a happy life.**


	3. Chapter 2 - Appearance

**[x] Astrid Hestia Ivanovich**

Your name is a unique one, a patchwork of cultures both magical and mundane. Rather appropriate, given that your family is just the same. Your parents told you that they argued for weeks over what they should call you. Your father, pureblooded scion of the Ivanovich family, wanted to give you a proper magical name, rooted in his mother tongue of Russian. Your mother argued that she'd already taken his Russian name and given up her Muggle life to be with him - the least he could do was let her name their daughter something sensible. Finally, the two came to a compromise: a pretty Muggle first name and a magical middle name (also English, for your mother's sake.)

You think you escaped with a pretty dignified name, all things considered. You've heard some of the wacky things wizards name their kids.

 **[x] January 1st**

You came into this world minutes after the new millennium began. This delighted your father, who believed you must be brimming with potential, being born on such an auspicious day. He wrote to his own parents about it, in fact; they responded two months later with a brief note of congratulations. Father blamed it on the Russian winter.

Your mother also thinks you're full of potential, of course, but that's more because she's your mother and less because she spent the last day of the 20th century in labor. It's a bit odd: she's been around magic for so long now, thanks to Father, and yet she still struggles to believe in the more mystical things in the world. A day is a day is a day, to her. The alignment of the planets and the turning of millenniums don't dictate anything.

(Father writes her horoscope sometimes just to annoy her.)

 **[x] Muggle mother, Pureblood father**

As you quickly learned when you were young, yours is something of a strange family. Your father - Vasily Ivanovich - didn't grow up in Britain at all. He and the rest of the dwindling Ivanovich line lived in the Russian countryside, known and respected by most wizards of Eastern Europe. He ranked in the top of his class at Durmstrang (which, your father explained, is the Russian school for wizards), and the Ministry offered him a job in the Department of Mysteries a few months after The War ended. You've asked about The War before, but Father either doesn't know much about it or doesn't want to tell you. He hasn't even told Mum, from what you can gather.

Anyway, he met your mother while figuring out the Muggle subway system. According to him, he fell hopelessly in love on the spot, and struggled to improve his English and Muggle knowledge just so he could talk to her without seeming strange. According to Mum, a handsome, absurdly dressed man came up to her on the subway one day and started spouting outdated slang before finally asking her out. They tell you that one thing led to another, and two and a half years later, you were born. You want to ask more questions about the story - like how your father told your mother about magic, or why you see Pa and Gran Gran every Christmas but have never even met your Russian grandparents - but your parents don't seem to want to talk about it much.

 **[x] Happy family**

Despite the differences that make them bicker so often, you can tell Mum and Dad love each other very much. They have to. Otherwise there's no way your bizarre life would work out. From birth, you've seen much more of the magical world than the Muggle one. You have a nice big house about a two hour's drive from London, with a huge yard, many magical contraptions, and a house elf named Tasha. You figure Dad's job must pay pretty well, or your family in Russia is super-rich. Or both. You don't have any close neighbors, but you know there are other wizard families nearby because you occasionally get dragged along to tea or fancy dinners.

You spent two years as an only child, then your parents decided the house felt too big for such a small family and had another kid. You got a sister named Magdalena in 2002. How do you two get along?

 **[x] You're about as close as sisters can be.**  
 **[ ] You get along well, but you prefer to spend time with non-family friends.**  
 **[ ] You fight a lot, but you don't hate each other or anything.**

Do you look at all similar?

 **[ ] You're practically twins.**  
 **[x] You're obviously related, but there are distinct differences.**  
 **[ ] People can see the resemblance, but it's not pronounced.**  
 **[ ] You look nothing at all alike.**

Speaking of which, what do look like?

 **[ ] Very short**  
 **[ ] Short**  
 **[ ] Average**  
 **[x] Tall**  
 **[ ] Very tall**

 **[ ] Lanky**  
 **[x] Thin**  
 **[ ] Average**  
 **[ ] Chubby**  
 **[ ] Large**

 **[x] Pale skin**  
 **[ ] Peach skin**  
 **[ ] Tan skin**  
 **[ ] Olive skin**  
 **[ ] Dark skin**

 **[ ] Light blonde hair**  
 **[ ] Dark blonde hair**  
 **[ ] Light brown hair**  
 **[ ] Dark brown hair**  
 **[x] Black hair**  
 **[ ] Red hair**

 **[ ] Short straight hair**  
 **[ ] Long straight hair**  
 **[ ] Short wavy hair**  
 **[x] Long wavy hair**  
 **[ ] Mildly curly hair**  
 **[ ] Extremely curly hair**

 **[ ] Dark brown eyes**  
 **[ ] Light brown eyes**  
 **[ ] Hazel eyes**  
 **[ ] Blue eyes**  
 **[x] Blue-grey eyes**  
 **[ ] Blue-green eyes**  
 **[ ] Green eyes**  
 **[ ] Grey eyes**  
 **[ ] Other**

 **[ ] You look more like your mother.**  
 **[ ] You look more like your father.**  
 **[x] You're an even mix.**

All in all, would you say you're pretty?

 **[ ] No. Everyone has their insecurities, but you know you're not very pretty. You've learned to deal with it, though.**  
 **[ ] You're about average. You think you'll look much better when Mum lets you wear makeup. Whenever that is.**  
 **[ ] You're a bit above average. You sometimes get comments about how nice you look.**  
 **[x] You're very, very pretty. Even at this age, it's easy to tell you'll be stunning in a few years.**


	4. Chapter 3 - Talents

**[x] You're very close.**

It's not surprising that you and your sister are best friends, you suppose. Growing up, there were hardly any other children around, so you two had to make your own fun. You spent many a day playing hide-and-seek in the small grove of trees behind your house, dragging twigs and dirt inside at dusk (much to poor Tasha's chagrin.) You played Aurors and Evildoers with fallen sticks for wands - and marveled when, sometimes, tiny sparks shot out. There was never any doubt that the both of you were magical. Dad explained that magic almost always passes down from a magical parent, even if the other is a Muggle. You're really glad that it works that way. You can't imagine how your relationship would have been if one of you had magic and the other didn't.

You do have your differences, of course, not the least of which is your appearance. You inherited your father's black hair, blue-grey eyes, and striking good looks. You burn so easily in the sun that you once asked Dad if you were a vampire. (He strung you along for a bit, but when you started crying, he told you that you weren't, silly thing.) Maggie, on the other hand, takes more after your mother, with soft, rounded features and warm brown eyes. She's also several inches shorter than you and has a bit more color in her skin. Still, you share the same raven hair and your father's sculpted nose, so people have no trouble telling that you're sisters.

Even though you're young, you've already demonstrated a number of talents. Your parents tell you you're special - don't parents have to? - but you somehow know that you are. Somewhere deep in your soul, you're sure of it. You're different. Capable. Perhaps...destined for something more?

The thought makes you shiver, like a chill wind.

But enough about such grand things. What, exactly, makes you special? What are you the best at?

(Choose three of the following. A single option can be taken up to three times.)

 **[ ] You're strong - in more ways than one. Your hits pack a punch, you can throw things very far, and your magic is so strong it flares up almost constantly.**  
 **[x] You're graceful and swift. You can climb trees with no problem, you can outrun everyone in your family, and you have a talent for art to boot.**  
 **[x] You're the most spirited girl out there. You make friends easily, communicate your powerful emotions with tact, and have hope in the direst times.**  
 **[x] You're incredibly smart. You read years above your grade level, instinctively know how things work, and effortlessly find solutions to problems.**

(In addition, choose one of the following.)

 **[ ] You've looked through some of Dad's books, and Charms just make sense to you. You've even accidentally done a few - not that you'd ever tell your parents.**

 **[ ] Transfiguration fascinates you, and you just know you'd be good at it. You once turned a stick into a quill just by thinking about it. Granted, you had to think very hard, but you did it!**

 **[ ] You're a great cook, always helping Mum out in the kitchen, and Dad's told you that's a telltale sign of Potions talent.**

 **[ ] You're able to hurt things - just by looking at them - when you're angry enough. It's scared those who've seen it, so you've tried to hide it as best you can.**

 **[ ] You frequently maintain the magical herb garden in your backyard, and can easily learn about and identify plants both magical and mundane.**

 **[ ] You once read the books about spell creation in Dad's library when he was at work. Weirdly enough, you sort of understood them. You don't know how good you'd actually be at making new spells, but you think you'd be better at it than some people.**

 **[ ] You're a wonder on a broomstick, even the crappy training ones that your Dad forces you to fly on. You're fast, agile, and not at all afraid of heights.**

 **[x] You have a disciplined mind, and can work for hours without getting distracted. You've picked up some extra knowledge from working so hard as well.**

 **[ ] Whenever your magic's flared up, it's always stuck. You once had an alarm clock singing Mum's favorite Muggle song for days before it finally quieted down. Dad says you'll be a natural enchanter, if that's what you can do without trying.**

 **[ ] You can heal minor scrapes and bruises just by wanting to, and also have an innate understanding of first aid. Blood doesn't bother you quite as much as it does your sister.**

 **[ ] You have a natural protective instinct, both for yourself and others. You once deflected an errant bludger shot your way at a Quidditch game, saving yourself from a nasty headache. You're not sure how you did it, but you did.**

 **[ ] You have dreams. Good dreams. Terrible dreams. Dreams that sometimes come true.**


	5. Chapter 4 - Experience

[x] Studious

You've proven to be a very well-rounded child thus far. You possess grace and precision, charisma and tact, cleverness and cunning in equal measure. You are perhaps not a _prodigy_ in any of these things, but the sheer variety of your talents speaks well of your potential - the potential that is only enhanced by your staggering thirst for knowledge, which you've unleashed upon your schoolwork to great success.

Seeing how there are no magical primary schools (that you know of, at least), you and Maggie have been home-schooled your entire lives, with Mum as your teacher. It was she that helped cultivate your work ethic. Knowing how capable you truly are, she accepted nothing but the best from you, and rewarded each perfect score in English, arithmetic, and Muggle science with what you found truly interesting: magic. Sometimes, this took the form of a new textbook. Other times, you got a private tutoring session with Dad. Either way, you made good grades, built yourself a solid academic foundation, and picked up some magical knowledge on the side.

Administering some mysteriously obtained Hogwarts exams to you, your father found you to be at the first year level in two Hogwarts subjects, both practically and academically. What were those subjects?

(Choose two of the following. Options may not be chosen more than once.)

 **[ ] Alchemy**  
 **[ ] Ancient Runes**  
 **[ ] Arithmancy**  
 **[x] Artificing**  
 **[ ] Astronomy**  
 **[x] Charms**  
 **[ ] Dark Arts - you took the Durmstrang test for this one**  
 **[ ] Defense Against the Dark Arts**  
 **[ ] Divination**  
 **[ ] Flying**  
 **[ ] Herbology**  
 **[ ] History of Magic**  
 **[ ] Magical Creatures**  
 **[ ] Muggle Studies**  
 **[ ] Potions**  
 **[ ] Transfiguration**  
 **[ ] Actually, you're only at first year level in one subject. You asked for half your academic prizes in galleons, and have two extra to spend at Diagon Alley when you go.**

Of course, one's advantages come not only from their education or their natural gifts, but also from their history. Being a somewhat outgoing girl, you've seen a bit of what the world has to offer you, despite your somewhat sheltered upbringing. What are the most valuable connections and assets you've picked up along the way?

(Must choose one of the following from high appearance.)

 **[x] You learned how pretty you are in recent years, and you imagine once you're older that'll be a great, ah, persuasive asset.**

 **[ ] You learned how pretty you are in recent years, and can use it as something of a distraction. You can bat your eyes - then duck out of the way before your opponent knows what happened.**

(In addition to the above, choose one of the following.)

 **[ ] You've always been fascinated by wands and wandlore. You have something of an eidetic memory when it comes to wand characteristics, and can usually tell someone's basic strengths and weaknesses by analyzing their wand.**

 **[x] You've learned that, in the long run, stress is a waste of time. You've learned to manage your anxiety and persevere. It would take an absolutely inhumane amount of work to make you have a stress meltdown.**

 **[ ] You talked with your parents about the importance of building up your savings for when you graduate - you showed them the Little Gringotts pamphlet and everything - and they've agreed to give you ten galleons at the start of every year, in addition to your allowance of one galleon a month. Whether you actually save these galleons is up to you. Maturity, and all that.**

 **[ ] Dad taught you and Maggie Russian as you were growing up. You're now bilingual, an effectively native speaker of both English and Russian.**

 **[ ] You've always been kind to Tasha and count her as a friend. She's told you about her experiences, and you think you understand the plight of other sapient magical species a bit better as a result.**

 **[ ] You and Maggie had a lot of time to kill growing up. You are an absolute** ** _fiend_** **at all manner of wizarding games, including Wizard's Chess and Exploding Snaps.**

 **[ ] You got into scrapes and tussles with bullies whenever you were around them, and even though you didn't always win, you certainly toughened up a bit. You can take a punch relatively well - but you still hope you'll learn a spell that protects you from stuff like that, because it's not fun.**


	6. Chapter 5 - Off to Diagon Alley

**[x] Charms**  
 **[x] Artificing**

Frankly, the first year Charms test was one of the easiest you've ever taken. You don't know how anyone could grow up around magic and _not_ know some of these answers. 'Name the incantation for the Levitation Charm?' 'Define the difference between a charm and an enchantment?' 'Explain the importance of clear diction?' The answers were practically instinctual. Granted, you didn't get a perfect score, since you've never really studied magical theory and there were a few questions about that on there, but you have no doubt that you'll breeze through the course at Hogwarts.

Dad wasn't exactly surprised by that result. What did surprise him was your score on the first Artificing chapter exam, which he gave to you on a whim after you did so well on the Charms test. You suspect he wanted to demonstrate how difficult magic really gets at Hogwarts, how you need to take your studies seriously even if you are talented, the things parents always say - but when he looked over your parchment, you saw his jaw drop. You _passed_. Yes, it was just barely, and with the practical portions scribbled out, but all the same. Your father gave you a fourth year level test, and you passed.

How did you feel about that?

 **[ ] You were very proud, and you continued to subtly reference it for days on end. You're pretty sure Dad bragged to his colleagues at the Ministry, so why shouldn't you be modest?**

 **[ ] You were very proud, but you mainly kept the accomplishment to yourself. Maggie doesn't even know what Artificing is, and Mum will be proud of you no matter what, so there's no point in talking about it much.**

 **[ ] You felt great, but you couldn't take your mind off all the red ink on the parchment. You asked Dad to loan you one of his books on the subject, but he just laughed and ruffled your hair, telling you not to get that far ahead of yourself.**

 **[x] You actually didn't feel good at all. True, you passed - with an A, and with enough red ink to put a crime scene to shame. Your age doesn't matter. You have to do better than just barely passing, no matter what.**

No matter how you felt, Dad's little test gauntlet was months ago, and time has marched on. Just a few minutes after midnight on New Year's - exactly eleven years after you came into this world - a tawny owl rapped on your window, holding a letter addressed to Ms. Astrid Ivanovich, sealed with a crimson H. And though you had been expecting it all your life, though your parents came barreling into your room a moment later with cake and congratulations, that feeling of invisible chill came over you once again.

You knew, from that moment on, that your life would never again be the same.

Your story had begun at last.

* * *

ASTRID IVANOVICH  
and  
THE SPINNER'S KEY

* * *

"Diagon Alley."

"Harder on the 'g'. Again."

"Diagon Alley."

"You're still mumbling. Again."

"Dad, _you're_ the one with the accent!"

" _Again._ "

"DerAgOOn AllOy."

"Maggie, if you're not going to take this seriously-"

You come downstairs in time to catch this heated exchange, your father and sister standing at odds several yards away in the family room. As ever, Dad's about three times as prepared as he needs to be. A trolley laden with empty baskets and bags stands poised by the stone fireplace, the Floo Powder is already scooped and ready to be scattered - you think you even see the family Bag of Holding sticking out of Dad's robes, which means it's an extra special occasion.

(You asked him once why you hardly ever use it. He said something about the inherent instability of enchantment, and how he once lost twenty galleons worth of Christmas gifts when his old bag decided it didn't want to be infinite anymore. You think that sounds more like an excuse to get out of Christmas shopping than anything else, but you didn't press it.)

You look over to see Mum and Tasha at the kitchen sink, cleaning up the remains of breakfast. The house elf's diligently scrubbing away, humming a happy Russian folk song as suds bubble up around her. Mum, on the other hand, you catch looking at the scene in the family room, smirking ever so slightly. She scrubs the same part of the dish over and over again with her sponge.

"They're at it again, huh?" you whisper, creeping down the stairs so you don't interrupt anything. Mum looks over at you, and that ghost of a smile blossoms into a real one.

"For the last ten minutes, at least," she replies. "Maggie's not giving an inch."

"Have the big guns come out yet?"

Across the room, you hear an exceedingly cross echo of ' _Magdalena!_ '

"You came just in time." She puts the plate down and walks over to you. From that look in her eye, she's about to be Very Mothering. "You have everything, dear?"

"I think Dad has it covered," you say, letting her smooth out whatever invisibly small wrinkles she sees in your robe. You wish you could take it off and just wear the Muggle t-shirt and jeans you have underneath - robes billow everywhere, and you constantly get the giant sleeves caught on doorknobs. But Dad insisted. 'You have to get used to robes, Astrid, because you'll be wearing them all year!'

Mum takes a step back to look at her handiwork.

"You look absolutely wonderful, darling," she says. "Knock 'em dead today."

"It's just a shopping trip, Mum," you explain with a laugh. "But I'll do my best."

She answers you with a hug, then the pair of you walk into the family room.

"DI-A-GON ALL-EY," Maggie all but shouts as you come in, hands on her hips. "There. Are you happy?"

"Yes," your father says, his body language relaxing immediately. "Was that so difficult, Maggie?"

"It's just that we do it every single time..."

"And we'll keep doing it until I know you won't go tumbling into the Ministry again."

"That was three years ago! I was six!"

Mum clears her throat, and both of them turn to see you standing on the threshold.

"I think we're all ready to go," you say, eyes lingering on the spoonful of Floo Powder hovering just above the fireplace.

"Ah. Almost, Astrid - but not quite." Dad smiles, and reaches to pull something out of his back pocket. "I trust you have looked over your school supply list?"

Crap. You...hadn't actually thought about that yet. You sort of assumed you would play it by ear in Diagon Alley. After all, it's just school supplies. They're not usually super complicated.

Dad clucks his tongue. "You need to think about these things, Astrid. You think we can just waltz into Diagon Alley unprepared?"

"Why not? What do we have to prepare?" you ask, instinctively plopping down on the nearest couch. Dad has his lecture tone going, so you might as well get comfortable. "It's just books and clothes."

"Yes. Books and clothes - from specific stores. That hundreds of students will be visiting today," he says, smoothing out the crinkled paper of the list on the coffee table. "Not to mention your wand, which will take at least an hour if Ollivander is half as thorough as he should be. We need to know where we plan to go and when. Then, Merlin willing, we may be back in time for supper."

Dad begins drawing a map of Diagon Alley in the air. Mum disappeared back into the kitchen some point during that spiel, and Maggie's sat down next to you. You commiserate with a shared grimace, then idly glance down at your list.

 _3 sets of plain black work robes*_  
 _1 pointed black hat (ceremonial)_  
 _1 black winter cloak with silver fastenings_

 _1 'Potion Master's Necessities' ingredient box, rudimentary grade_  
 _1 pair of dragon hide gloves_  
 _1 pewter cauldron, size 2_  
 _1 set of glass or crystal phials_  
 _1 set of brass scales_  
 _1 telescope**_

 _'The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1' by Miranda Goshawk_  
 _'A History of Magic, Revised Edition' by Bathilda Bagshot and Luna Scamander_  
 _'Magical Theory' by Adalbert Waffling_  
 _'A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration' by Emeric Switch_  
 _'One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi' by Phyllida Spore_  
 _'Potions Without Peril: Basic Potioneering for The Enterprising Youth' by Horace Slughorn_  
 _'Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them' by Newt Scamander_  
 _'Defense Against the Dark Arts' by Harry Potter_

 _1 wand_

 _Students may bring one owl OR cat OR toad. Rats allowed with prior approval._

 _*Students are reminded that robes will be enchanted upon Sorting. Pre-bought garments that do not match the student's house will be returned home by owl post._  
 _**Self-Focusing Telescopes are strictly prohibited._

A shower of golden sparks startles you out of your reading, and you see Dad looking at you expectantly, the map hovering in the air beside him.

"As you can see, we have a great deal to do today," he says. "We'll need to visit five stores in order to pick up everything you need." He starts poking at specific stores on the map, which leap forward and display their names in fancy script. You see 'Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions,' 'Slug and Jiggers Apothecary,' 'Flourish and Blotts,' 'Engleby's Equipment and Everything Else,' and finally (the smallest shop of them all), 'Ollivanders.'

"I'm sure you remember Madam Malkin's and Flourish and Blotts," Dad goes on. "Apothecary is where we'll get the gloves and the potion ingredients - it's absurd that they're making you bring your own ingredients these days, but what can we do - and Ollivanders-"

"That's the wand store!" Maggie blurts out, swinging her feet off the couch. "I want to go there first."

You, meanwhile, are eyeing the remaining store, which you can't place from your past visits to Diagon Alley.

"What's Engleby's?" you ask.

"New store where Potage's Cauldrons used to be. They bought it out last year, said it would be more convenient to have a place that sells more general equipment than just cauldrons. And I agree, though the place is rather..." He trails off, waving his hand as he searches for the right word.

"Rather what?" You're a bit sad that Potage's is gone. The old lady who owned the store gave you and Maggie candy the few times you went there.

"Let's just say it's a bit like one of your mother's department stores," he finishes, and you're not quite sure what that means, since you can't remember the last time you went Muggle shopping. "Now, it's 10:30 in the morning."

The grandfather clock booms in the corridor to confirm this.

"We have to go to those five stores. If we have time, we can stop by a sixth so you can spend your allowance. Or you can spend it at one of the main five, and we can get ice cream at Florean Fortescue's. Or eat at the Leaky Cauldron. It's up to you." He shrugs.

You furrow your brow in confusion.

"So...you're letting me plan all this?" you ask. Your father's famously a bit of a control freak. Him letting you do something on your own? That's...wow.

"I recommend visiting Ollivanders a little later, because every little first year will want to get their wand first thing and the line will be unbelievable," he says. Maggie lets out an unhappy sigh. "Also, if you want a pet, you should probably buy it last so that we don't have to deal with it all day. But it's your decision, darling." He smiles warmly. "I think it's about time we start giving you a bit of responsibility, don't you think?"

You guess he's right. You look up at the glowing map, then at your list, then back again, gears whirring in your head.

Where do you want to go, and when?

(Number the stores from 1-6 in the order you want to visit them.)

 **[2] Madam Malkin's**  
 **[3] Apothecary**  
 **[1] Engleby's**  
 **[4] Flourish and Blotts**  
 **[5] Ollivanders (zoom in)**  
 **[ ] Eeylops Owl Emporium**  
 **[ ] The Magical Menagerie**  
 **[6] Weasley's Wizard Wheezes**  
 **[ ] Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor**

Your thoughts also stray to your allowance while you're at it. You've been given seven galleons to spend. It's possible you could convince Dad to give you more if you really wanted something, but you can't count on it. What would you most like to buy?

 **[ ] Your very own owl. (7 galleons)**  
 **[ ] A cat. (6 galleons)**  
 **[ ] A toad. (4 galleons)**  
 **[ ] A rat. (4 galleons)**  
 **[ ] A diary. (3 galleons)**  
 **[x] A new book. (Varies)**  
 **[ ] Something else.**


	7. Chapter 6 - Engleby's

**[x] Commence planning.**

You spend a few minutes contemplating the best schedule for your trip. As much as you'd like to rush to Ollivanders and get your hands on a wand, you know your father's right - that's going to be everyone's first instinct, and you'll just waste time standing in line if you try to go there first. As boring as it is, you decide to pick up all your equipment before you do anything else. It'll get it out of the way, and besides, you'd like to check out the new shop. You're curious to see how it's like a Muggle department store.

A thought occurs to you. "We should probably get this written down, shouldn't we," you say. "We might forget if we don't."

Dad nods. "An excellent idea. Why don't you get us a quill and some parchment?"

Wait - he's going to make _you_ go and get it? When he has _magic_? You make a face.

"Can't you just conjure me some?"

He quirks an eyebrow.

"Conjure you some parchment that will disappear in a few hours, and some ink that'll vanish even sooner? Astrid, be practical."

"Come on, Dad." You sigh. "We're in a hurry, and we'll be back in a few hours anyway, so it's not like it matters."

"Maybe not, but it's the principle of the thing," he says, turning to look at your sister. "I've been going over this with Maggie recently. What must we always remember about magic?"

"Never point your wand at something you can't risk exploding," she rattles off, almost sing-song. Dad looks surprised, then shakes his head.

"No - well, yes - and that's important too. But what's the other thing we've talked about?" After a few moments of Maggie looking confused, he hints, "About what magic should and shouldn't be used for?"

"Oh, that! Never use magic for something that can be managed without it."

"Very good. I'll buy you an ice cream once we get to Diagon Alley."

Your sister yelps in excitement, but your expression darkens. You remember Dad's little adages from when he started teaching you magic. He has a whole list of them: rules he considered more important than any theory, incantation, or gesture. He made you memorize them when you were Maggie's age, and you did so diligently. But you didn't agree with them all then, and you certainly don't agree with them all now. You point at the glowing map that still hangs above your head.

"So that couldn't be managed without magic, but a quill and parchment can?" you say, a tad snarkier than you intended. Dad turns his attention back to you, lips tightening in a small frown.

"We don't have a map of Diagon Alley on hand. We do, however, have plentiful parchment and ink in the other room. The sooner you fetch them, the sooner this argument will be over, and the sooner we'll be buying your school supplies," he says. "And watch that tone, young lady."

You make a disgruntled noise in the back of your throat, but concede defeat, wandering into the next room and pulling open the cabinets full of writing supplies. Dad's always been this way about magic. Maybe it's because Mum doesn't have any, or maybe that's just how things work in Russia, but you know for a fact that it's not what you've encountered in other magical households you've been to. How do you feel about that?

 **[x] While you're eager to do more magic, you guess Dad has a point. Magic can be dangerous, and it can make people lazy if they let it.**

 **[ ] You couldn't disagree more. You're a witch. You're special. There's no point in having magic at all if you don't use it.**

Supplies gathered, you come back to the family room and take your seat, unrolling the parchment and stenciling in ' _1\. Engleby's_ ' at the top. You glance briefly at Dad for any indication of displeasure, but he looks on without comment.

Huh. So he really is going to let you plan this all out yourself.

Well. Depending on how long Engleby's takes, the line at Ollivanders may have shortened, but there will still likely be leftovers from the early morning rush, so your time may be better spent elsewhere. Anywhere would be fine, really - so maybe your robes next? You shrug, then make the note, following it quickly up with ' _3\. Apothecary._ ' Good a time as any for that smelly old place, you suppose.

"Wand next! Wand next!" Maggie interjects, peaking over your shoulder. "That'll be so much more fun than this other stuff."

"Quiet, Maggie," Dad says. "Let Astrid decide. This is her trip."

You pause to consider a bit. All this 'boring' shopping is probably going to have Maggie wound up, and you don't want to deal with your kid sister's hyperactivity while you try to buy your supplies and make a good impression on whatever students you see around. You'd also been considering how to go about buying your allowance present: a book on the Dark Arts, or the closest thing you can find to that at Flourish and Blotts. Dad went to Durmstrang, so he should be okay with you learning more about the subject, which is never even broached at Hogwarts...but still. It would be better to seek forgiveness than to ask permission, right?

You come up with an idea.

"How about this," you say. "After Slug and Jiggers, I'll go over and buy my books, while you and Maggie go get some ice cream. We can meet back up before Ollivanders." You glance up at your father. "Does that sound good?"

Evidently not as good as you'd hoped, if his furrowed brow is any indication. "I don't know. I'd rather not leave you alone. You could get lost, and then Mum would kill us both."

"Oh, come on," you say. "We've been to Flourish and Blotts more than any other shop on Diagon Alley. I know it like the back of my hand, and it's right next to the ice cream parlor anyway." You tilt your head to one side. "Weren't you just talking about giving me more responsibility?"

Dad takes a long time to answer - debating back and forth in his head, you're sure - before he finally sighs.

"Alright. But I'm not letting you out of my sight until you're sixteen if any part of this goes wrong."

"It won't." You smile, then write down the next two shops on your list. Perfect. That only leaves the question of the final stop.

You look back up at the map, straining to see the shops Dad didn't mention. There's always Eeylops and the Magical Menagerie, but seeing as you're not getting a pet this term, there's not much point visiting them. You could reward yourself with some ice cream at Florean's, but Dad and Maggie will have gone there already, and they probably won't be too hungry for food at the Leaky Cauldron either. You're thinking you might just nix the sixth shop and go home early when something catches your eye.

You can hardly contain your smile when you recognize it.

"Weasley's Wizard Wheezes! I didn't know that place was still open," you exclaim. "You never took us back there, Dad. I thought they'd closed."

Your father looks rather exasperated.

"We might've gone back if you and your sister hadn't put invisible music-blasting traps everywhere. The house was a minefield for a month. And Tasha _still_ triggers them sometimes, poor dear."

That she does. You do occasionally wake up to high-pitched shrieking accompanied by the echoes of an annoyingly catchy children's song.

"I won't do that again. I just want to see what they have. The owner was always nice to us too, so we should really say hi," you declare, and confirm your decision by writing it down. Maggie giggles mischievously. You don't know exactly what you'll do at the shop, with no money to spend, but you'd like to visit it nonetheless.

Dad, looking at the last item with hesitation, clears his throat. "Alright. Looks like we're ready to go, then." He draws his wand, flicks it, and the fireplace erupts with green light. (You may or may not mumble something about managing _that_ without magic.)

"Astrid, you go first. Then Maggie. Then me and the trolley. If anyone gets separated, we'll meet at the Leaky Cauldron entrance."

Thankfully, you're now seasoned Floo travelers who don't sneeze and fall out in the Ministry, so a few minutes later, you've gathered at Diagon Alley and begun navigating its substantial crowds towards Engleby's.

* * *

You suddenly realize what Dad meant when you set foot in the great white building, which sticks out like a sore thumb among the older tiled rooftops around it. Everything's bright - bright and _loud_. All around you, trolley's piled high with cauldrons and cutting boards and omnioculars wheel themselves around, just barely dodging the shoppers as they race toward their destinations. You turn your head to look at your father, but words appear in front of your face instead, tiny fireworks bursting happily around them.

 _'Hogwarts First Year Special! 40% off all Portable Window and Webspinner combos!'_

You startle, reflexively waving the enchantment away. It ripples for a second, only to blaze back to life, bigger and so close to your face it brushes the tip of your nose.

 _'Don't let this amazing offer pass you by! Stay connected with Engleby's-'_

" _Finite_ ," your father says from a few feet away, and the scarlet advertisement vanishes, leaving a puff of smoke in its wake. "Sorry about that. I forgot how vicious they were with the Hard Sell Charms here. Let's just get what we need and - oh, for Merlin's sake -"

Before you stands an unnervingly cheery house elf. There weren't house elves anywhere near you three seconds ago.

"Good day, sir. I detected a use of magic here," he says, his wide smile never breaking. "Is everything alright?"

"Fine, fine. Everything's fine," Dad mumbles.

"Then how may I assist you today?" the elf goes on, turning to look at you. "First year shopping, I take it?"

"Yes - and I don't want to hear about your special discount bundles, sorry," Dad replies gruffly. "Just show us where we need to go so my daughters don't get mauled by a trolley."

"Yes, sir. Right this way, sir." The elf skitters away, and you see that his footsteps leave little neon green prints behind, exactly matching the color of his bedsheet uniform. Dad grumbles a bit more, then grabs Maggie by the hand and follows, eyes darting about for errant carts or house elves that might leap out from nowhere. You begin to follow, but as you do, you can't help but look around the store.

Engleby's Equipment and Everything Else, huh. You didn't think they meant the 'everything else' literally - you see now that you may have been mistaken. Almost every known wizarding good lines the walls, strewn about on the shelves with little rhyme or reason. Many of the displays look to be on the verge of collapse, but even when a trolley slams into one, it merely rocks back and forth, fallen merchandise floating back up to its original containers. If this is what Muggle department stores are like, you don't know how they keep everything from falling over.

Sounds of effort draw your attention to your left. You look over to see a boy in a wheelchair parked below a box of brass scales three inches above his outstretched arm. You wonder how he's avoided getting assistance from the legions of attendants, and consider going over to help him out, when to your right something shimmers pink and purple, and you hear the voice of a human salesman.

"As you can see, this new model of Window is even larger than the last. More room for Webspinners means a faster, longer lasting Web connection, and if you make use of our excellent first year discount, we'll send you a replacement batch directly to Hogwarts at no additional cost."

You hear a girl make an impressed noise. You have to admit, you're a bit curious - that's the second time you've heard about Windows and Webspinners, and you have absolutely no idea what they are. But you also see the steps of the house elf leading your family fading away in front of you, and that boy could still use your help too.

You think about what you should do.

 **[x] Go help the boy.**  
 **[ ] Go investigate this 'Window' thing.**  
 **[ ] Follow the house elf and your father. Best not to get lost.**


	8. Chapter 7 - Meeting Carter

**[x] Go help the boy.**

Even with the house elf's footsteps fading away, you're not able to ignore the boy. Not when he so clearly needs help, not when you're in a position to give it. You suppose you could just tip off one of the staff members and catch up with your father, but you don't want to sick the Engleby's marketing team on an unsuspecting victim - besides, the boy looks to be about your age. He could be one of your new classmates, especially since he's reaching for the oddly specific brass scales you also need to buy.

You give one last look toward your father's trail, trying to memorize which direction those bright green footsteps were headed, then turn and walk over to the wheelchair-bound kid a few yards away.

"Need some help?"

He startles a bit, cocking his head over his shoulder with wide eyes. He must have been so focused on that box of scales that he didn't hear you walking over.

"Oh. Uh..." The boy stammers for a second or two, his eyes drifting to the floor. "I mean, if it's not inconvenient. I just need one pair, and if it were just an inch or two lower..." A blush rises to his cheeks as he trails off.

You shake your head.

"It's no problem at all," you say, reaching just above your head and pulling down the metal box. "I need a pair of these anyway." You pull out two identical sets of scales, then spy the floating basket at the boy's side and toss one in. It's completely empty otherwise. Either he just started his shopping, or he's had the height problem with all his other supplies too.

"Thanks," he says, meeting your eye again. "I can't wait until I have my wand. Levitating stuff will make my life so much easier."

"I know, right?" You've had the very same thought while doing your household chores - though you realize now that, as convenient as the Levitation Charm would make your life, this boy probably needs it much more than you. "I'm surprised you escaped all the shop workers. My dad and I were barely in the door before someone tried to sell us something."

He laughs at that, seeming to relax a bit more.

"My parents put me under at least twenty Ad Block Wards. I'm not sure the staff can even see me," he explains. "Didn't your dad cast any before walking in?"

You blink. You don't know what an Ad Block Ward is, and you certainly don't know why someone would need twenty of them before walking into a store.

"He didn't, no," you say. The boy winces.

"You're probably already signed up for five newsletters, then," he says. "And watch out for things that try to follow you out of the store. They'll send you a bill for them if you don't send them back in three hours."

Wow. They really are vicious about selling things here. You look over your shoulder cautiously to see if you've picked up any stowaways, but it looks like you haven't. Yet. You make a mental note to warn Dad when you meet up with him again.

"Thanks for the heads up," you say. "I've never been here before, so I didn't know it would be...well. Like this, I guess."

"It's pretty bad, yeah," he agrees. "And only getting worse. They've been trying to sell stuff that other shops on Diagon Alley have, and of course it's total rubbish in comparison, so they just shove things in people's faces until they buy them."

"That's stupid," you say. You can only imagine the row your father would have if someone tried to do that to him. The row he might be having at this very moment, if that house elf's gotten too keen on selling him a self-inking quill or a calendar of adorable Puffskeins.

"It is stupid. I need to get the other supplies so I can meet up with my mum and get out of here," he says.

"Is she in the store somewhere?"

That's odd. He makes it sound like they're somewhere else, but that can't possibly be true. Parents wouldn't make their kid do their school shopping on their own, especially if that kid is in a wheelchair. But the boy just shakes his head.

"No, she's at Flourish and Blotts with my brother. He's a third year, so they're getting all the new books he needs."

"Oh," you say. "And your dad...?"

"He couldn't come. Work called him in at the last minute," the boy says, and though his friendly expression never changes, his shoulders sag the slightest bit. "But it's alright. I can manage on my own." He smiles, clearing away whatever grey cloud came over him. "My name's Carter, by the way. I guess we're going to be classmates?"

"Astrid," you reply. "And yeah, I guess we are."

You pause, considering what you should do now. This boy seems nice so far, and you'd hate for him to struggle against his shopping list all by himself. But Dad's words from earlier echo in your mind: 'never let you out of my sight until you're sixteen if this goes wrong.' You wonder if he considers you wandering off in Engleby's 'going wrong.' He probably does, since he worries about nearly everything. Maybe if he knew the reason why you went off on your own, he'd be reasonable?

 **[ ] Bid Carter goodbye and find Dad again. If you can get back quickly, it'll be like you were never gone at all.**

 **[ ] Bid Carter goodbye, but tell one of the staff members that he could use some help reaching things. They may be ruthless, but they wouldn't ignore a boy in a wheelchair just because he has some anti-advert charms, right?**

 **[x] Invite Carter to finish his shopping with your family. You don't want to leave him all by himself, and Dad would probably be less angry if he knew you left him for a good cause.**

 **[ ] Finish your shopping with Carter. It'll be nice to talk one on one with another first year, without a parent's looming presence. Besides, you're not a baby. You're pretty sure you can manage being alone in a** ** _store_** **.**


	9. Chapter 8 - Ollivanders

**[x] Invite Carter to shop with your family.**

You figure it's about time you head back to Dad and Maggie, if only to minimize the lecture you're bound to get for wandering off. At the same time, though, you'd feel pretty bad just leaving Carter by himself. It's clear the workers won't help him out, and you doubt that the remaining supplies will be within his reach - from the looks of it, he'd be pretty short even if he wasn't in a wheelchair. Why his mum is over with her older son and not in here is a mystery to you.

"Hey," you say, an idea bubbling up in your head. You need to find your family again, but you also want to stay with Carter. Why not kill two birds with one stone? "You want to come shop with my family? We're headed to the same places either way, since we need the same supplies. And maybe we'll be able to fight off rabid salesmen if we stick together." You shrug. "Strength in numbers and all that."

He laughs.

"I'm sure we'll have better odds of survival if we travel in a group," he says. "Just don't move if you get cornered. They can only see you if they hear jingling galleons."

"I see," you say, walking down the aisle toward the place you split off from Dad. Carter follows you, his chair wheeling itself along. "And what about sickles and knuts? Do they hear those?"

"Only the most desperate and starving specimen would pay any attention to such petty coins," he replies, sounding for all the world like a wizened old zoologist. "By then, though, they'll have begun to revert to their true form. You can recognize them by their yellow eyes and greenish-brown scales. Hence the name: 'scalesmen.'"

You giggle...and sincerely hope he's kidding. It seems like he is, but when it comes to magic, you can never know for sure.

A few moments later, you hear a very familiar voice, about as irritated as you expected it to be.

"There you are, Astrid. We've been looking all over. This blasted store is such a maze," Dad says, spying you from halfway across another aisle and jogging over to you. He leaves the trolley with Maggie. "Hold still for a bit." His signature black wand appears in his hand, and he says a string of incantations in the exact same tone he uses when he's swearing in Russian and doesn't want you to hear. "There. That should be all of them. How silly of me to forget I'd need a suite of protection spells before I walked into a _store_." He stows his wand back in his pocket, then assumes his full posture, arms crossed and everything. Uh oh.

"And where did you get off to, anyway? Those house elf steps were so bright, I was seeing spots. Unless some salesman pulled you away, in which case I'll hex the bast-"

Carter pulls up to your side, and Dad cuts himself off abruptly, jaw snapping shut before he can finish his sentence.

"Oh. Er...and who might you be?" he says, dropping both his arms and his stern tone.

"Sorry, sir. I was having some trouble reaching something, and Astrid came over to help me out. Didn't mean to scare you or anything," Carter says, and you can't tell if he's being genuine or if he's just really, really good at knowing what adults want to hear. "I'm Carter Fellwind. I'll be a first year too, in a few weeks."

Dad blinks, then looks between the both of you like he's trying to decide whether he should still be angry. You take the opportunity to hold out your brass scales and drop them in the trolley, which Maggie's pushed over to you in the meantime.

"Got these, by the way," you say. "You're welcome."

That must be all the convincing he needed, because after shooting you a familiar 'watch that tone, young lady' look, he smiles at Carter.

"Good to meet you, Carter. I'm Vasily Ivanovich. The father of this little goblin, as I'm sure you've guessed," Dad says, using his weird little pet name and patting your head at the same time. Payback for getting smart with him, you guess. Grumbling, you pull away. "Though I'm glad Astrid's meeting other first years, neither of you should be alone. Especially in a place as shark-infested as this. Where's your par -"

"Carter wanted to come shopping with us, Dad," you say, sending him a pointed glance before he can finish that question. You don't know all the details, but you're pretty sure Carter doesn't want to talk about where or why his parents aren't with him, if his reaction earlier is any indication. "We have the same supplies anyway, so I didn't think it'd be any trouble. Can he come along?"

Your father returns your glance, obviously confused at the note of urgency in your voice.

"It wouldn't be the whole day. I'm meeting up with my mum and my brother once they're finished at Flourish and Blotts," Carter chimes in. Thankfully, he doesn't seem to get gloomy like he did earlier. Between your combined efforts, your father relents, though he still looks at you like there's something you're not telling him.

"Alright. It looks like we have the scales covered, and Maggie and I found the telescopes before you went missing, Astrid, so we can get back to those. I think. Unless the aisles rotate when we're not looking, or that house elf led us away - oh, Merlin's beard, _point me_ -"

And so the four of you struggle through the dense mercantile jungle of Engleby's. You lose a fair bit of time to getting lost, and to Dad refusing to call another house elf because you can do this on your own, damnit, but you eventually gather all the supplies you need and head over to the cashier. As you're standing in line, glancing behind you to make sure no enchanted tea kettles have taken a liking to you, you see the pinkish-purple glow of the Windows from earlier, though your view is mostly blocked by a swaying shelf of Quidditch bobblehead dolls. You'd sort of hoped you'd pass that section of the store again. You're curious what all that talk of 'Webspinners' and 'faster connections' was about, but in all the circles you went in over the past hour and a half, you never managed to go back there.

You make a mental note to ask Dad about Windows later.

* * *

"Five galleons for a size 2 cauldron," your father murmurs when you finally exit back into the main street. Your eyes adjust gratefully to the normal level of light, and the fresh air feels lovely, even as humid as it is. "A bloody scam, that place. A downright injustice. How those scoundrels ran Potage out of business I'll never know."

"Well, we're done in there, at least," you say. "And everything else should go by much faster, except maybe Ollivanders." Indeed, the line for the wand shop is still trailing out onto the sidewalk, with many kids your age looking antsy from the wait. You made a good call not wasting your time there yet, even if that meant slogging through Engleby's first thing.

"Ollivanders can sometimes go fast," Carter notes, his chair hovering down the entrance's short flight of steps. (Good - you'd been wondering how he was going to get around Hogwarts without walking. Haven't you heard something about a grand staircase that moves?) "My brother was in and out in a moment when we went with him. Ollivander said that he can sometimes pick the wand the second a person's through the door."

"You wouldn't know it from the line," Dad mumbles again. You know he rather resents the old wandmaker; he's gone on and on to you before about how he's a snob about his cores, and how he limits the variety of his wands greatly by only using three. Gregorovitch was the true master, he says, and it's a shame his children will never know the unmatched subtlety and craftsmanship of his work. But Dad is a kind man, and can only stay grumpy for so long, so he brightens again rather quickly.

"Did you need us to walk you to Flourish and Blotts?" he asks Carter. "The alley is easy enough to navigate, but I'd hate to leave you on your own."

"No, it's fine," he replies. "I see them over there." He points several dozen yards down the road. You squint, and in the crowd, you can make out a sour-looking woman in fine emerald robes, holding the shoulder of a boy with messy blonde hair, who's holding a thick book open in one hand.

That's...odd. You look quickly back at Carter. He has dusty brown hair - curly - and a round face that's not a bit as severe as his mum and his brother's. Maybe you've spotted the wrong pair?

But the woman turns her head and makes eye contact with Carter, beckoning him over with a sharp gesture. The older boy looks up, appraising you from a distance for a moment before returning to his reading.

Carter begins wheeling over, his supplies bumping about in the basket on his lap. He looks over his shoulder before he gets too far away.

"It was nice meeting you, Astrid," he says. "Thanks for helping me out."

You smile.

"No problem. I guess I'll see you in a few weeks?"

"Yeah. September 1st." He returns your smile. "Maybe we can sit together on the train."

"Maybe," you say, then smirk. "If the scalesmen don't get you first."

Your father looks at you like you've grown a second head.

"They'll never take me alive," Carter says, his smile nearly splitting into a laugh - then his mother makes that gesture again, this time even more impatient, and he winces before starting forward. "See you around."

When he's a safe distance away, Dad raises an eyebrow. "'Scalesmen'?"

"Don't worry about it," you say, breezing past him. "They can't see you if you don't move."

* * *

The rest of your shopping is mercifully easier than the debacle that was Engleby's. Madam Malkins is boring, and the Apothecary stinks to high heaven, but you find what you need there at reasonable prices and without much trouble. Funnily enough, you see Carter again inside the Apothecary, and you're about to go over to him and say hi. But then you see his wheelchair clip the edge of a shelf, knocking down several jars that shatter on the ground. His mother makes a comment you can't hear, repairs the fallen ingredients with a flick of her wand, and ushers him out of the store before you can do anything.

You don't think she's a very nice person to live with.

You head to Flourish and Blotts afterward, splitting off from Dad and Maggie, who head for Florean's. Dad gives you about a million different ways to contact him should anything go wrong - should you get lost, or mugged, or transfigured into a toad - before you at last get away. It's a new sort of experience, being in the bookstore on your own. Just about everyone else you see in the shop is with a parent. Well, except this one blonde girl you spot, who's badgering a man with a bowler hat and Ministry pin for some of the candy they sell at the counter. You'd forgotten that Muggleborns had to do all this shopping with a Ministry escort. You're lucky you don't have to. They've all seemed pretty uptight when you've met them.

Quickly gathering your books, you steal over to the back of the store, checking behind you every so often as if you'll get in trouble at any moment. This is where you know they keep the books on the Dark Arts. Dad's been back here a few times, always telling the cashier that it's 'Ministry business,' whether they ask about his purchases or not. Some of the texts are far beyond your meager price range, but you do find two books that look interesting. (Some of the stuff in Dad's library is confusing drivel, and you'd prefer not to accidentally buy something like that.)

One is called _100 Helpful Hexes_. It looks like a standard spellbook, like the one you need for school, only with a list of jinxes and hexes instead of charms and enchantments. Most of them seem more mischievous than Dark, but as you're flipping through, you see one or two that could be helpful in a fight. The Bat Bogey Hex, for instance, though that's listed under the 'Challenging' spells. It's not exactly serious academia, but it could be a useful book. And it probably wouldn't get you suspended if anyone found it.

The other is called _The Forbidden Arts: A Treatise on Morality and Magic_. It's much thicker than the other book, with an ominous skull on the front, and you find the author listed only as 'Anonymous.' The print is small, and you're not sure how much practical advice it gives, as you know that no one is allowed to teach serious Dark Magic in Britain. But still, some of the chapter titles seem interesting, and one in particular catches your eye: 'The Dark Mark, or A Critical Analysis of the Second Wizarding War.'

Your heart leaps into your throat. Dad never has told you much about The War...

You'd buy both, if you could, but you can only afford one. Which do you choose?

 **[ ] 100 Helpful Hexes (5 galleons)**  
 **[x] The Forbidden Arts (7 galleons)**

You avoid looking the cashier in the eye as you slide the book across the counter, then stow it in the deep pockets of your robes as you head back outside to find your father.

* * *

"Looks like everybody's gotten their wands now," you say, standing across the street from the much less busy Ollivanders. Maggie's nursing the remains of an ice cream cone, while Dad cranes his neck to see in the shop window, which is caked with dust from the inside.

"Almost everybody," he says. "There seems to be a bit of a crowd inside, but that can't be helped, I suppose. One wand shop, one wandmaker, and at least forty little students who need wands. It's inevitable."

"I'm so excited." Maggie crunches down on the last of her cone, smearing vanilla-strawberry ice cream around her mouth. "I want to see which wand chooses you, Astrid. Dad told me that wands say a lot about a person."

Ah, yes. Adage 14: 'People can act however they wish, but wands never lie.' He gave you a sheet of wand woods and cores to look over, but you found all the different meanings and combinations a bit overwhelming. Besides, you don't think it's totally fair to judge someone only on their wand. If it's true that the wand chooses the wizard, no one has a say anyway, so why would it matter if someone got an 'evil' wood? You're not even sure there is such a thing, not unless some trees are good and some are evil.

"Well, nothing for it, then," Dad says, crossing the street with both of you. "We'll just have to wait inside until the crowd leaves." He grabs hold of the knob, turns it -

\- someone inside shouts, "All clear!" -

\- and the window explodes in a shower of glass.

Standing in the middle of the shop is a girl with blonde hair in two braids, holding up a greyish wand, looking completely stunned.

Perhaps you picked a bad time to wand shop after all.

A head of thin white hair peaks up from behind the counter, silver eyes gleaming in the low light.

"I think we can safely say the dragon heartstring isn't for you," the man says, pulling out a brittle-looking wand of his own. The broken glass leaps back into place without a word from him. "Not to worry, my girl. That happens more often than you would believe."

"Didn't happen to us," a voice says from further away.

"We all got our wands on the first try," another one comments.

"All dragon heartstring, all from the same dragon," a third one joins in.

"A shame," says the first.

"A shame," a chorus of voices repeats.

You wheel around and see a group of nigh identical blonde girls, at least seven or eight in total, all wearing their silver blonde hair in intricate styles, all training their eyes on the girl in the center of the room. They look so alike - you figure those must all be her sisters - but how? There's so many of them, and all of different ages, so you know it's not some monstrously rare case of octuplets. And they all wear the same mask of judgmental disappointment as they stare down their sister.

A boy you didn't see before steps in front of them, as if to shield the poor girl, who seems to be on the verge of tears.

"Leave her alone. So what if she doesn't get a dragon heartstring? It's not like that matters."

The girls titter with laughter, high-pitched and elegant.

"The boy thinks he understands."

"How quaint."

"How gallant."

Meanwhile, the girl with the wand holds it up again, a look of pleading in her eye.

"Just let me try it one more time, Mr. Ollivander. I'm sure it'll work." She makes to swing it again, but before she can, Ollivander's reached over and plucked it from her hand with worried swiftness.

"No, no. I have something much better in mind for you, miss. Much better indeed," he says, then disappears into the countless boxes and shelves behind him.

Coughing awkwardly, your dad closes the door.

"Here we are, here we are." Ollivander comes back but seconds later, carrying a slender box. He removes the top and pulls an intricately carved, light brown wand from within. "Dogwood with unicorn hair, thirteen and a half inches. Wonderfully pliant. Just perfect for a girl like you, I think. Give it a try."

The girl hesitantly takes the wand. A tense second passes. Two. Three.

And a shower of sparks erupts from the tip, iridescent in the dusty air.

"See? A wonderful fit," he says, beaming at the display. "Wouldn't you rather have a wand like this, my dear?"

She sniffles.

"I suppose we have no choice," one of the voices from the back says, standing up. From her height and her air of maturity, you guess she's the oldest of the bunch. "Give her the one that works."

Two or three more comments of 'a shame' can be heard before one of the younger girls strides forward and drops a bag of coins on the countertop. Ollivander nods solemnly.

"Would you like its box?" he asks.

"No. She'll take it with her," the oldest girl says, before turning to her flock. "Come, sisters. Urania. Your little friend may come along, if he wishes, but we are finished here." She turns her cold eyes to you, standing in the doorway as you are. You swallow, then step to the side. The girls exit without another word, the youngest looking at the floor the whole time.

The boy stays for a moment, shakes his head, then follows them, leaving silence in his wake.

"Odd family, that one," Ollivander says, wiping his brow with a handkerchief. "I gave a dragon heartstring to each of the first eight. All from the same dragon. I figured it would be the same this year...but oh, I'm rambling. You're not here to hear about the troubles of others."

"Indeed not," Dad says, cool and polite. The old wandmaker perks up as he speaks.

"Judging by that accent, you're one of Gregorovitch's, aren't you?" he says, chuckling. "Interesting. Very interesting. What did the old man give you, if I might inquire?"

"Ebony and dragon heartstring," your father answers. "But I'm here for my daughter, not myself."

"Of course you are." Ollivander looks down at you from across the counter, eyes twinkling. "And who might you be, young lady?"

"Astrid," you answer, heart beating fast. "Astrid Ivanovich."

He looks you up and down once, with an expression you can't read - then he taps his wand against a shelf, and a measuring tape flies at you.

"Well, Astrid Ivanovich. Are you right-handed or left?"

 **[ ] Right.**  
 **[x] Left.**

(Choose one answer for each of the following. Credit to the Pottermore wand quiz for the questions.)

 **What do you take most pride in?**  
 **[ ] Your determination**  
 **[ ] Your imagination**  
 **[ ] Your resilience**  
 **[ ] Your intelligence**  
 **[x] Your originality**  
 **[ ] Your optimism**  
 **[ ] Your kindness**

 **You reach a crossroads. Which path most appeals to you?**  
 **[ ] The path by the sea**  
 **[x] The path through the forest**  
 **[ ] The path to the castle**

 **Of these, what is your greatest fear?**  
 **[ ] Darkness**  
 **[ ] Fire**  
 **[ ] Heights**  
 **[ ] Small Spaces**  
 **[x] Isolation**

 **In a trunk of old magical artifacts, which of these would you choose?**  
 **[ ] The dusty bottle**  
 **[ ] The old black glove**  
 **[ ] The golden key**  
 **[x] The bound-up scroll**  
 **[ ] The glittering jewel**  
 **[ ] The silver dagger**  
 **[ ] The ornate mirror**


	10. Chapter 9 - Ollivanders Continued

**[x] Be measured.**

"I use both," you reply, and it's true. You've always been fairly ambidextrous, so you thought the concept of 'right-handed' and 'left-handed' was odd when you first learned about it. Still, you slightly favor your left hand, and you tell Ollivander as much when he doesn't seem content with your first answer.

"Very good, then. Extend your left arm, if you would, and let me get a look at you," he says. You lift your arm so that it's parallel to the ground. The measuring tape shoots through the air, snapping taut to mark the length of your forearm, your hand, your whole arm. It even snakes around your wrist before zooming up to your head and measuring your height from head to foot. All that finished, it flies back over to the counter, where it winds itself up and lies still. Ollivander must have excellent eyes if he can see all those tiny numbers from where he's standing.

"Five feet already?" he comments, resting his chin on one hand. "My, you'll be a tall one. Though judging by your father, that's hardly a surprise."

Dad grumbles, then goes to sit on one of the stools near the window. Maggie joins him, watching you the whole time, even now that the tape isn't flying everywhere.

"Does height matter much for wands?" you ask. It seems silly for something as boring as height to affect what wand a person gets, but you suppose you're far from an expert on the subject.

Ollivander chuckles.

"Only marginally, my girl. It establishes a base length for the wand, but there are wide variations within that base, and even some who ignore it completely, depending on their personality," he explains. "What matters most is what's up here." He taps his temple twice, then fixes you with a wistful gaze that's so penetrating you feel he might as well be reading your mind. "But I suspect you already knew that, didn't you?"

He smiles before you can answer, then vanishes into the shelves, kicking up wood shavings and dust in his wake.

"He's weird," Maggie mumbles to Dad, who brings a finger to his lips, though he doesn't contradict her. You simply stand in the middle of the room, shifting from foot to foot while it remains empty. What are you supposed to do now? Is he going to be back there for very long - and if he is, can you go sit down? Or do you have to keep standing here for as long as it takes? Can you even talk? Maybe you should be meditating on yourself and your magic, so the wands can sense you a bit better, but you're nervous, this shop makes you sneeze, and he's been gone for so _long_ now -

You've just started pivoting around to go sit down when Ollivander drops at least six different wand boxes on the counter, making you jump.

"You are not an easy one to place, Astrid Ivanovich," he says, removing the top from a box that hasn't been touched in years, if the dust buildup is any indication. "I had to visit some parts of the store that haven't seen light for decades."

"I'm...sorry?" you say. So that's why it took him ages to come back. You hope being hard to 'place' isn't a bad thing.

"No need for apologies. It simply means you have a wide breadth of potential. All that remains is for us to find the wand that will realize it fully," he replies. "Besides, I do so enjoy difficult cases. Clears the cobwebs out of this old head a bit." With a slow, gentle motion, he produces the wand from inside the first box: a light tan wand, neatly polished.

"Holly with unicorn hair. Thirteen and three-quarter inches, unusually supple for the wood. Let's start with this one."

He flicks the wand around, offering the handle to you. You reach out, fingers hovering over the end for a second or two, before you finally take a deep breath and pick it up.

And...nothing happens.

You wait, glancing from Ollivander to the wand and back again. You know that something's supposed to happen when you pick up a wand. It's supposed to break something, or conjure something, or shoot sparks like the girl did earlier. But you don't feel anything, and the wand hasn't so much as twitched in your grip. You may as well be holding a piece of dead wood.

"Am I supposed to do anything?" you eventually ask, twirling the tip of the wand around in tiny circles. Still nothing. "Try and cast a spell?"

"No, no, not at all," he says, more to himself than to you. "Holly is much too brash - and the flexibility is all wrong." Ollivander snatches the wand back from you unexpectedly and places it in its case, which shoots off to parts unknown. "Sorry about that. You just have a certain...air about you. I once gave a holly wand to someone with a similar air, but I realize now that you are not much like him. You are..."

He gives you that soul-piercing look again.

"Well. Let's continue, shall we?"

He taps his wand against the glass, and several other boxes he brought forward float back to the shelves. Whatever you did or didn't do there, it must have really helped him narrow his choices.

The next wand he pulls out for you is also light brown, though a bit duller than the first one in color. The handle curves, giving it a peculiar shape compared to most other wands you've seen. You briefly wonder if Ollivander made it that way for a reason, or if it just suited his fancy that particular day. He doesn't really strike you as the ultra-methodical type.

"This one should suit you much better. It's a lovely elm with phoenix feather, one of the first to be made after the second fall of You-Know-Who. Fourteen and a half inches..."

He goes on, but you stop paying attention after he mentions that name. You-Know-Who...? What a bizarre thing to call somebody - at least, you assume it's a somebody, and not a some _thing_. You, in fact, do not know Who, and your puzzlement must be obvious, because Ollivander cuts himself off and looks at you with concern.

"Is something the matter, child?" he asks.

"No," you say, not wanting to worry the old man. "I just...You-Know-Who. I don't know what that means."

His concern fades abruptly to seriousness that's almost angry, and you wonder if you've said the wrong thing. But he looks over at your father, not at you, when he speaks.

"You have not told them, then."

You turn back to look at Dad, whose expression has become just as grave as Ollivander's.

"It is not our history, wandmaker," he says, flat and cold.

"It is _all_ of our history. You would keep your children in the dark -"

"I would keep my children _innocent_. I would keep them _safe_." Dad stands up, his every muscle tense. He's not yelling. He's a quiet man, and you've heard him raise his voice maybe twice in your life. But you have heard this tone before, and you know he's fighting to keep himself calm. "Resume your work, or I will take my business elsewhere."

That's a bluff. You know it, and you're sure Ollivander knows it. There's nowhere else for him to take his business, except maybe Engleby's, but you'd be surprised if those wands are anything more than glorified kindling. You hold your breath, sharing a look of silent, confused anxiety with Maggie. What's made the two of them so angry that they would fight in front of you? And, more importantly, what is so bad about You-Know-Who that Dad's never even mentioned the name to you?

Uncomfortable silence hangs in the air for half a minute before Ollivander clears his throat, turning his silvery gaze back to you.

"Never mind, then. You will learn soon enough," he says, his voice dropping to an ominous near-whisper. Then he offers the curved handle of the elm wand to you. "Give it wave. We'll see if we have any better luck."

You nod and take the wand, your pinky finger sliding nicely into the groove where the wood hooks inward. You do feel something this time - immediately. Your heart sparks within you, and in your hand, the wand vibrates, responding to you. Encouraged, you flick your wrist like the Charms book told you.

And vast, uncontrollable plumes of fire shoot out, scorching the roof of the store and singeing your face. You shriek, trying to pull the wand downward, but it's taken on a mind of its own, fighting against your direction. There's a commotion behind you as Maggie echoes your scream and your father springs to his feet, knocking over his stool in the meantime. All the while, the flames continue, a steady stream of blindingly bright heat, until -

" _FINITE!_ "

A blast of magic tears through you with enough force to knock the wand cleanly from your hand. It hits the floor, bounces once, then rolls a few inches before coming to a stop at Ollivander's feet. He's brandishing his own wand, so he must have gotten to you before Dad did.

"Interesting," he says, unbelievably calm, as though he just watched an intriguing game of chess instead of you almost burning down his store. "I haven't seen that reaction to a phoenix feather in some time."

"Are you _insane?_ " you father demands, passing you by to come face to face with Ollivander. "My daughter could have been killed, and you can only say that it's interesting?!"

The old man remains unswayed - looking less disturbed now than he did when he mentioned You-Know-Who, somehow.

"I assure you, your daughter was never in danger. If you think that's the most bombastic wand failure I've ever seen, you're quite mistaken," he says. The fallen wand shoots from the floor and into his hand. "In fact, I think we learned something rather valuable, don't you? If the phoenix is too blunt for Miss Astrid, even when paired with the mild elm, then she demands a subtle wand indeed." Ollivander strides over to the countertop once more, stowing the failed wand and sending it back, along with two others. A single box now sits next to the register.

You swallow hard.

"I don't know how much you know of wandlore, child," he says as he removes the top half of the crimson box. "But all woods lend themselves better to some areas of magic than to others. Take your father's ebony wand, for instance. A powerful wood, perfect for Transfiguration and a fearsome weapon in the right hands, especially when paired with the dragon heartstring. I would wager, however, that complex charmwork is a challenge for him." He looks up. "Am I wrong?"

Dad grimaces. "Challenges can be overcome."

"Indeed they can be. And, unlike some, I believe that no witch or wizard is limited by their wand. Only by the extent of their imagination - and their perseverance," Ollivander continues. He produces a sandy brown wand, relatively plain except for the decoration on the end of the handle, which is carved to look like a multi-faceted gem. Letting it rest in his upturned palms, he looks it over, holding it up to the light. "Beech with unicorn hair. Fourteen and three-quarter inches, as brittle as they come. The quiet nature of the wood and core's combination makes it ideal for the most intricate of spells, while its uncommon length and hardness allow for a certain measure of power not seen in other wands of the same make."

Ollivander's moon-like eyes flash as they meet yours.

"Tell me: have you any interest in Artificing?"

You let out a small gasp.

"How did you..."

He quirks an eyebrow in reply.

"Try the wand, Miss Astrid."

You obligingly take it from his hands, feeling the polished wood slide warmly against your palm. Your fingers curve around the handle as though it were carved just for you, and as before, you feel a spark inside your chest. Acting on instinct, you hold the wand above your head and wave it in a single, slow arc. As you do, you leave a trail of diamond-like little lights, which shimmer for a moment before flying off all around the store. You're not sure how many you make in that motion - dozens, maybe, or hundreds - but when you look around you, Ollivanders is full of tiny crystal stars, like the night sky shining at noon.

The wandmaker smiles.

"I believe that will be seven galleons."

* * *

"That was brilliant, Astrid!"

Maggie all but tackles you the moment you're out of the store, arms slung tightly around your shoulders.

"I haven't seen anything that pretty in my life! And _you_ made it, all on your own! You didn't even cast a spell," she says, jumping up and down, not aware that she's shouting in your ear. "I can't wait to get my own wand. You're so lucky to be eleven, Astrid. I have to wait two whole years..."

"You'll survive, Maggie," Dad says, summoning the trolley he'd parked several yards away while you were inside. "You've made it nine years. You can last another two."

"But that's sooo loooong."

Your sister slinks off of you as she complains. Dad ruffles her hair affectionately, then turns to you. You've been staring at your wand since you left the store, too busy thinking to say a word.

"How are you feeling?" Dad asks. "Do you like it?"

"Yeah. I like it," you say, in a bit of a daze. Truth be told, you're still processing everything that happened in there. The flock of identical girls, the fire, the magic you did...not even mentioning the business about You-Know-Who and how Dad acted when Ollivander mentioned it. You're glad to have your wand, at least, but that shop gave you have much more to think about than that.

"It was rather impressive, what you did in there. My wand only shot out a firework when I held it for the first time," he says. "I think you'll be a star at Charms, once you get to Hogwarts. And don't feel bad about all that phoenix feather nonsense. In my experience, none of the wand cores have seemed more powerful than the others. Not in my field, anyway."

Not that he's ever told you what his field is - and you're not allowed to ask. There's a reason he's called an Unspeakable, he says. He's not allowed to talk about work.

"Anyway," Dad says, turning his back to you so he can push the trolley again. "That's all your supplies. All that's left is a _quick_ and _harmless_ visit to Weasley's, and then we go home and enjoy some of your mother's delicious cooking." You nod, and both you and Maggie trail behind your father as he leads the way to your destination.

A few minutes later, he looks over his shoulder at you while he walks.

"Have you spent your allowance yet, Astrid? Or were you saving it for this nonsensical store?"

 **[x] Be honest. Tell Dad you've spent your allowance, and tell him about which book you bought.**

 **[ ] Be evasive. Tell Dad you bought a book, but try not to get into the details of it.**

 **[ ] Lie. Tell Dad you decided to save the money instead.**


End file.
